


Burnt Down

by Cheshagirl



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Animal Death, Gen, Other, Swearing, Violence, officers being assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshagirl/pseuds/Cheshagirl
Summary: In her mid-twenties, Ginnie is running a successful ranch. When bandits begin to bother her, it escalates until she loses her home and business. Exhausted and scared, she turns to the local Annesburg police.





	Burnt Down

**Author's Note:**

> Some backstory on Ginnie because my brain wanted angst. For some context, bandits showed up about a month before this and started harassing her for money and such. When she got into a fight and shot one of them they came back for revenge

The screaming of cows, the smell of burning flesh and wood, and the shouting of men pierced the night air. Ginnie flies from her bed, not bothering to grab shoes or real clothes as she finds her shotgun and bursts from her home. The ranch she had built herself is in chaos. Her chickens and the few goats she had are fleeing from the bandits running through, some waving torches and other shooting at the animals. The barn is burning, lit in orange and red as the flames devour it. She can see cows stumbling out in flames, some being shot as soon as they appear. She stands on her porch, knuckles white as they grip her gun. A bandit hurls a Molotov and it crashes through a window of her house, bursting into flames. Ginnie stumbles from the porch, shielding her face with her arm as the fire quickly spreads and begins to engulf her home. 

Horror seeps through her veins as she watches it burn, embers leaping from the flames that twist and eat their way through the wood. Her face burns from the heat but the rest of her is frozen, trembling. She feels like she’s stuck in water, the sounds of victorious laughter and cheers muffled in her ears, bones feeling heavy and sluggish. Mud cakes her feet, the cool night breeze rustles her hair, and tears stain her cheeks as she drops to her knees. The world she had built for herself crumbles around her, bathed in blood and red sparks. Her head turns slowly toward one of her cows, its skin and fur singed, its back leg shot but it still hobbles toward her, wailing in pain. She abandons her shotgun to crawl toward the cow, who she recognizes as Lilith, a young cow she had just bought from a rancher who had passed through Annesburg not long ago. 

Lilith collapses in front of Ginnie, side heaving with labored breathes. Ginnie gathers the young cow’s head in her lap, trying to soothe her in her last moments with soft strokes down her neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Ginnie chokes out, watching the glassy brown eyes grow dim. “It’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.”

She repeats this like a mantra as life leaves Lilith, body falling still in Ginnie’s arms. Her lips wobble and her throat hurts when a sob wracks her body. She wails, curling over, pressing her forehead to Lilith’s. The barn groans in the background, it’s supports had been eaten away by the fire, sending it collapsing to the ground in a thunderous crack. As the cold of the night bites at her through her flimsy nightgown and her ranch burns down, Ginnie remains by Lilith’s side, weeping for her lost possessions. 

When morning comes, she’s shivering and the fire has long since died out. Lilith has gone cold in her lap, but she is reluctant to let go. Grief clouds her mind and makes planning her next move difficult. She needs to look in her house for anything salvageable and find a place to stay for the time being, but her body is frozen in it’s hunched position, hands curled around her cow. Ginnie finally forces herself to stand, bones aching and crying out in resistance as they’re forced to straighten and move in the first time in hours. Stumbling into a charred home, where the wind cuts through burned out holes and the ashes of her old possessions cling to her pale feet, an empty feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. She finds her weapon stache unharmed in its chest and a pair of boots and a jacket that are relatively fine save for the smokey smell clinging to them. When she’s done rummaging through the remains of her house, Ginnie finds herself standing in front of the collapsed barn. The corpses of her cattle lay on the ground around her, flies already starting to swarm. Her body trembles, whether from the cold or from the anger she’s not sure. The wood lay in a heap, charred and some parts still smoking, impossible for her to move through safely. Ginnie sets off to find her shovel, wanting to bury at least a few of her cows if possible before heading toward Annesburg for help. The rest of the day is spent that way, digging holes, dragging her cows to them, burying them, and occasionally sitting down to cry when her body screamed in exhaustion. 

By the time night falls she has all her cattle buried and her body is shaking. She hadn’t eaten, not that she was hungry, and her lack of proper clothing was starting to shake her. Without her horse, which had most likely either run off or been stolen, she was forced to walk the trails toward the town. She made sure to carry her pistol out, wary of any noises that made in the dark. The town was an hour away on foot, and by the time she got there her legs wobbled and her feet were sore, but she pushed onward. The few people out and about gave her a wide berth, whispering to each other when she passed and quickly looking away when she looked at them. When she enters the local police station and glances in the mirror, she can see why. Her hair is a mess, wild and hanging around her face like a curtain. Her skin had turned pale from the cold that bit at her, and soot stains her hands and face. The woman looking back has haunted, glassy eyes rimmed in puffy red and purple bags, tear stains down her cheeks. Her body trembles in the mirror but the longer she stares, the more it doesn’t feel like her body.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright?” Ginnie jerks toward the voice, finding several officers standing around a desk. Their faces are filled with concern and confusion at the husk of a woman who had just stumbled in. For the first time since last night, relief washes over her and she’s overwhelmed all at once, sobbing as she stumbles toward them.

“I was - my ranch was burnt down,” She cries, staring up at the sheriff. “Bandits came last night ‘n killed my cattle, burnt down my home, you’ve got to _help_ me.”

“Where’s your husband, miss?” The deputy asks. Ginnie frowns, wiping at the tears on her face.

“I don’t have one, it’s just me.” She replies. “Please, I’ve got nothin’ left.”

One of the men scoffs, and she turns to him. He’s shaking his head, a sneer on his face when he says, “What’d you expect to happen? A woman shouldn’t be living alone, let alone running her own ranch. You’re lucky they didn’t do worse.”

The other officers nod in agreement, and the sheriff begins talking. He says something about how she should probably move on, look for a job as a waitress in town to be safe but Ginnie has stopped listening. They were like everyone else, she realizes with a sinking feeling in her chest. They didn’t care she had lost everything, they didn’t care she sobbing at their feet for help. They wanted her to act like a proper woman, and her losing her ranch meant that she could do just that. Her jaw clenches and she grinds her teeth as the sheriff continues, “Now I understand you’re upset, but there’s not much we can do for you.”

“Not much - not much you can do for me?” She scoffs, fury boiling in her. “How about you get off your asses and catch the fuckin’ bandits that destroyed my home.”

“Now miss-” He interrupts, holding his hands up to stop her, but she’s far too enraged to listen to any of them speak. 

“Don’t you dare _now miss_ me.” Ginnie snarls, voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “I built that ranch with my bare hands, I came crawling to you for help, and all you can say to me is a woman shouldn’t be livin’ by herself? You _disgust_ me.”

The men’s faces grow cold and serious. She glares back at them, fists clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms. One of the officers takes a drag on his cigar before striding toward her. He leans in close, his smell assaulting her senses before he blows the smoke out into her face and says with a smirk, “Run along then sweetheart, we’ve got better things to worry about then some girl tryin’ to act like a man.”

The officers laugh, and the man smirks down at her. A loud smack rings out through the room. Her palm stings from the force of her slap, but the smug satisfaction from the red handprint on the asshole’s face lessens the pain. She turns on her heels, stalking out of the police station and down the street. She gets a good distance from the police before she slows to a stop and the feeling of helplessness captures her again. She sobs into her hands, tired and hungry with nowhere to sleep. 

_You can’t stand here all day feelin’ sorry for yourself_. She thinks. With a deep breath, she wipes her tears and starts toward the saloon. If they weren’t going to help her, then she’d take care of it herself.


End file.
